


Drink to Forget

by thatsprettygood



Series: Waiting to Heal [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, M/M, ask to tag, no betas we die like men, no comfort, off screen character death, references to violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23680258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsprettygood/pseuds/thatsprettygood
Summary: The Mad Hatter died years ago, and now Jonathan has to pick up the pieces he left behind. But as a strange letter finds him, he realizes that the rabbit hole is much deeper than it appears.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch
Series: Waiting to Heal [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705195
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Drink to forget

“You know? The criminal underworld isn’t the same without him.” Edward said finally. Jonathan crane nodded blankly. This was the second-no- third year they’ve done this. Drink to forget. Harriet sniffed. “ It really isn’t. It’s a lot less fun, I think.” She took back another long chug of her drink. “Wonderland left when he did.”  
It had been three years since the Hatter died. He left no will, and no lasting memory other than a few rallies to ban Carroll's books from children’s libraries, a handful of well-made hats, and a scar on the memory of Gotham city that was finally scabbing over.

“I don’t miss those stupid little rabbit toys he’d bring around,though.” The riddler smirked. “You know the ones- you’d trip on one and it would start singing? Where the hell did he get those?”  
“Beats me. He probably made them to screw with us.” Edward chuckled a little, nodding his head. It didn’t stop the awkward silence.  
It was deep in November. Gotham has gotten used to the thick snow and slush at their feet. No rouge (besides one mister freeze) dared to leave the comfort of their homes. It was far easier, anyway. The three sat in Harriet’s hideout- It was warm, with daggers and axes lining the walls. It was a place one could be comfortably uncomfortable. “What do you think he’d be doing right now, if he were still here?”  
“Oh hell if I know, Ed. Telling us to wash up- the queens on her way!” Harriet giggled, digging for another can of beer. 

Jonathan was quiet. Beer cans were half heartedly crammed underneath the couch across the room, and a dead fern leaving leaves on the second hand carpet right beside it. Mounted above the couch was the Hatter’s axe. Dusty and forgotten. She was the one who kept the Hatter’s things around. She said she had to, and nobody would take her place. 

“...by the looks of this place he’d probably be cleaning.” He mumbled through his mask.  
“Yeah.”  
“ He always did like to play house or tea parties or whatever- you especially. “ Edward wrinkled his nose at Jon. “He was like your little...buddy.”  
“And he’d never shut up about you.” Harriet nodded. “It was always March hare this, Jonathan that. It's confusing as hell when he also calls me March Hare.” She raised her hands up in quiet disbelief.  
“How do you think he registered that? The overlapping characters?”  
“I dunno. He just did it.”  
“But what if there were more than two of the same character? Like three Cheshire cats, four dormice-”  
“Twelve red queens.”  
Edward chuckled. “He’d lose a grip. Could you imagine? Calling us all your majesty and your high-”  
“Edward.”  
The riddler stopped in his tracks, looking terribly offended. The scarecrow was unreadable behind his mask.  
“What?”  
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”  
He opened his mouth to protest and shut it just as quickly. “Okay.” He grumbled.

They ran out of booze and things to talk about well past midnight. Edward sighed. The two left and were standing in front of Harriet’s building.“ Take care of yourself Jon.” He muttered, giving the scarecrow a pat on the arm. This, on a normal day, would infuriate him to no end. Edward was little and idiotic and the fact that the man uses his obnoxious voice to ease himself in some asinine way made the scarecrow want to wring his thick little neck. He had lived his whole life comfortably standing on his own two feet. He didn’t need his halfhearted pat on the back. But now Jonathan was too numb to care. He watched the man walk away in the snow until he was a green speck in the distance.

The trek across town was a blur. Thankfully in His haze his mask was comfortably in his coat pocket. He didn’t put it in there, he didn’t think. The journey was conscious flickers of the train station, watching cargo trolleys scarred with graffiti in the show and the train itself- barren and sterile.

And then he was home.

Now alone, he resigned himself to his bedroom. He had allowed himself few luxuries- a decent bed was not one of them. He noticed his shoes were gone and the familiar scratch of burlap was on his cheekbones again. He wrapped himself up in blankets. If Jervis saw him he’d make a joke about how ill wrapped overstuffed burritos are, in the way Jon’s legs spilled out from under the covers. Part of him told him it was natural to feel these things while he tucked himself in.He had lost a friend. Grief was an arduous process. The other part hated himself for even thinking about it. He was the master of fear- not some wistful idiot begging for a better life. He looked at the ceiling cracks. There was no scarecrow tonight- just Jonathan Crane.

He jolted out of bed- not realizing he fell asleep. He stumbled out of bed, gagging to the bathroom. He choked out the contents of last night- angrily coughing and spitting.  
He groaned. His face was hot and wet and now his mask needed cleaning. He went back to lay back in his pile.  
But the buzzer rang. Which was strange because he didn’t think he had one. Puzzled and tired in the worst way, he went to lie down. It buzzed again.  
.And again.  
It blared for a solid five seconds and he realized just how hard his head was hammering .He groaned. But he got dressed. Apparently the last one to live there was a man named Carilson. Some kind of janitor. He tossed his mask aside.  
He found a woman standing at the door. “Salutations, Mister Crane.” She said in perfect monotone. She had fuzzy white rabbit ears attached to her head and a freshly pressed red and yellow smock, embroidered in a gaudy fashion. He scowled. “Who are you?”  
The woman smiled in response. Perfectly perfect— her smile looked like invisible fingers had hooked on the corners of her mouth and pulled. It was more teeth than actual mirth. “ You must remember me, Mister.Crane.”  
“Jog my memory.” He drawled. He didn’t have anything. No gas, no scythe. It simultaneously excited and bored him, the same way the gcpd tries to make good of their threats whilst among his brand of chaos.  
“ I was always one of Mister Hat’s favorites. He always said I had the prettiest smile. You’re never fully dressed without one.” She said plainly. She pulled a note out of her left breast pocket. “ He asked me to deliver this. He demanded that you read it. It is of utmost importance, he said.”  
Jonathan took the envelope and she bowed deeply; he realized he wouldn’t get another thing out of her, and let her on her way. You couldn’t get a thing out of Hatter’s drones. the idea of even needing to remember that brought a hot clench to his gut. The bulging envelope in his hands felt like a bomb. His head was throbbing and his knees were weak, and despite himself he ripped it open. 

My dear Jonathan,  
I hope this letter finds you well. Batman still still stirring up trouble? Haha. Sometimes I miss those old days, and I miss, as Harley would accurately put it, hanging with you. I’m afraid I can’t keep this charade up forever. I am alive. I’m doing quite well, actually. I want you to come visit. I Know how busy you get, especially now. However, I assure you I will make it worth your while.  
Enclosed is a plane ticket. You will go to the town of Mansfield and find a man named Lake Finnegan. He will ferry you to my location. Come alone.  
Forever yours, Jervis Academies Tetch.

The handwriting was thin and the Is were dotted with little Xs. It was painfully familiar. “You have got to be kidding me.”  
Jonathan dug around his notes. He wasn’t a sentimental man by any means, but somehow he had kept a few trinkets around. It was finally useful as he pulled out an old note, handcrafted by the hatter himself, out of one of his books. 

I apologize for my unexpected leaving Hare.  
But I fear it would leave us both (Multiple words were scribbled out and rewritten to the point it was illegible.)  
With the Bat on our tails we’re through  
But I have not given up yet  
I'll make it a bet  
But until then I must say toodle-loo

“Bullshit.” Same little lines, same little X’s.  
He re-read them. And re-read them. He re read to the point toodle-loo didn’t look like a word anymore. It was...shockingly accurate. 

After some pondering he put his mask on and picked up the heavy nokia phone.

The riddler’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he waited in line, groceries in hand. The benefit of looking like the common man, despite the riddlers efforts, was that he could hide like one. He let the phone ring.  
“Your phone, sir?”  
The riddler turned to look. A woman, roughly in her forties,motioned to his back pocket. Her shopping cart was full of things like bread and milk and by the way she was looking at him talking to strangers wasn't a strong suit of hers. Edward Nygma pitied her with his whole heart.  
“It's um... going off.”  
“It's unimportant.” He curtly replied. The woman said no more and Edward went on his merry way buying 9 volt batteries and highlighters.  
He believed it was unimportant until he got into his car and checked his phone. 

“Scarecrow?”

“Nygma.” The scarecrow growled through the phone. “I need your help.”

“Oh...what a surprise.” Edward chuckled, leaning his car seat back into a comfortable position. It was easier to gloat that way. “ Let me guess…? Having difficulty with the wi-fi again?”

“As much as I hate listening to you trying to boost your bloated ego- It's a forensics thing.”

“I’m busy, Jon. I have things to do! Places to be! People to out-wit.” There was a pause at the other end of the line. The scarecrow sighed.

“It's about the Hatter.”

“ Jon...The Hatter’s dead.” 

“Shut up, Nygma. “ Jonathan barked at Edward’s condescending tone. “I’m not an idiot.”

“...Your place or mine, then?”

“Yours. I'll be there in an hour.”

“Make it two, I have some important-”

“One. hour.” He said and the line went dead.

Edward groaned and started the ignition. “Dramatic, much?”

Edward checked the notes carefully. “You could have at least made my life a little easier and control the amount of fingers touching this thing.” He said, snapping on some latex gloves.  
“I thought you liked a challenge.”  
“It's not a challenge, it's a freakin’ nuisance. The note is years old, anyway. Even if I did dust for prints they’d be long gone.”  
Jonathan shifted.  
“There has to be a way to check.”  
“I could try to mess with the fuzz on the back of the note, but there's no information on the letter I could cross-reference. You're asking me to work with five year old evidence Jon. I'm not a miracle worker.” 

Edward groaned aloud as the scarecrow fell silent in his chair. “ Look, Jon. I know we all want Jervis back. He was...well, he was Jervis. You have to let the guy go sometime.” 

The scarecrow was still. “At least tell me if it’s a fake.”

“What's the point in that, now?”

“Because if it is,” Scarecrow slowly hummed. His fingers drug across the table to form a neat tent out of his hands as he seemed to twitch with life. “I would like to know who made it.”

“Ah. Revenge. I see.”

He nodded.

“Well. I would like to tell you, if this will ease your strange anxiety, that I don’t see anything that outright says it's a fake.”  
Jon paused. “Harriet.”

“What about her?” 

“She was the one who kept his stuff.”

Edward wrinkled an eyebrow. “And you didn’t?” 

“I’m not sentimental. ”

Edward grinned. “But you don’t want to be the one to break this to her. You of all people!”

“It's not for her sake, it’s for mine.” 

“She might kill the messenger, or she might kill the Hatter if this is real. Quite a conundrum.” He stretched and yawned. “ Personally, I think if you want to find who did this, Jervis or other, she’s probably the best bet. You’d be stupid not to.”

Jonathan was still, but slowly, deliberately he rose to full height. He began to leave. 

“A thank you would be in order now.”

“Piss off, Edward.” Jonathan said. “You just told me something I already knew.”

“Your guess was an uneducated theory! I have scientific evidence to back myself up.”

“You just looked at the damn things and said they don't match. That's it.”

“But I’m a genius!”

“Do geniuses drop out of community college?”

“You-”

Jonathan has shut the door behind him.  
He wasn’t even down the stairs before he got a call. 

“You. Owe. Me.” 

“Alright Edward. If it makes you feel better. Happy?”

“Hardly. I take it that you’re going to tell her?”

The door behind him slammed with a metallic Chunk. “Your intelligence knows no bounds.”

“Let her down slowly.” 

“ I would appreciate it if you started talking to me like I have some sense in my head.”

“That’s going to be difficult-“

“Nygma. Get to the point of this call before I hang up and refuse to speak to you.”

“Fine! Fine! No witty banter for you, then Mr.Party pooper. Get back to me when you tell her, okay?”

“Fine.”

And the Riddler hung up.


	2. Three's a crowd

Harriet woke up to the buzz of her phone. She clawed out of her bedspread as the phone started playing a poor cover of ‘another one bites the dust.’ The empty room lazily swung around her vision, and the music pissed her off. What a way to start a day.  
“Who the hell is this?” 

“Crane. Look I-”

“Jonathan?” She slurred. “Jesus. What is it?”

“It's about the Hatter. He sent me a note.”

“Well aren't you two cute.” You were always real sweet to each other. Why are the fuck are you waking me up to tell me this?”

“He sent me a note today. Harriet.” 

Harriet chuckled weakly. “...Youre fucking with me, arent you?

“Why would I?”

Harriet shrugged, knowing full well Jonathan wouldn't see it. It's the thought that counts.  
“It’s very much your style of.” She waved a hand. “I can see you now, notebook in sweaty, gnarled fist, waiting to write down my deepest, darkest insecurities.”

“No my dear,” He cooed just as calmly. “because I can see them from a mile away. Did it ever occur to you why I have this number?” 

“...wait. Jerv gave it to you, right?”

“For emergencies. Correct.” 

The line went deathly quiet. 

“Youre not fucking with me.” She said.

“ I’m coming over to look through Jervis’ belongings. Be ready.”

Jonathan hung up. Harriet looked at the closet. That stupid, stupid closet. “I spent days reorganizing that damn thing.” Every stupid shirt, every stupid rabbit-shaped knicknack, and for what? So he could come back one day and find all of his ducks laid out in a row?   
Harriet got up, legs wobbling and head spinning, and charged to the closet. “And he told Jonathan? Instead of me?” She snatched up a hat from the abysmal pile. It had a gold bow and cut out stars and little plastic animals on the brim. “I watched after his shit, and his stupid gang that he started, and he told his dick appointment first?”

She had the hat in one hand, the heavy kimber 1911 from her bedside table in the other. “I watched after him in Arkham! I beat up the Joker so he’d leave the guy alone- and he goes ‘oooh lemme tell my dear Marchie because I’m soooo desperately in love with him.’ ”

She threw it up, and aimed.

The hat fell in scraps, a line of bullet holes on the blank wall. 

Harriet looked at it, gun still vibrating in her hand. Something so personal and special dashed to pieces. She scrubbed the tears away with her sleeve. “Screw him.” 

She tossed the empty gun onto her bed and decided she wouldn’t think about Hatters or Hares for a while.   
After a shower, a few aspirins, and a few minutes doing her best to look simultaneously casual and intimidating, the buzzer rang.   
She smoothed her button down while she jogged down the stairs. An afternoon with the master of fear would be...fun. If that's what you could call it- she could call it smart networking, if she could survive the man's feeble attempts at freaking her out. She figured if push came to shove she would have a dead Scarecrow on her hands. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

She frowned. Jonathan stood in the doorway, with the Riddler beside him. Edward waved with his loose plastic gloves. 

“I thought it was just you.” She said as she swung the door open.   
“Is that a problem, Harriet?” Edward chimed. “You didn't seem to have a problem the other day.”  
Harriet grinned at the scarecrow. “You know he's a lot easier on the ears when you’ve been drinking.”   
“Rude!”   
“He’s here to deduce.” Jonathan said quietly.   
“Ah fine, he’s not the worst bastard I’ve let into my house. Come on.” 

Edward eyed the hat. “Is that..?”   
“Don’t ask,” Harriet growled. “And help me unload his crap.”   
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Edward gave a small eye to Jonathan. “We only need one...thing.” Jonathan said.   
“Oh, you're not taking this with you?”   
“I don't have a need for it.”  
Harriet scoffed. “Well neither do I.”  
Jonatha raised an eyebrow. “...Color me surprised.”  
“Guys, the evidence? Save your petty squabbles for another date! Preferably when I’m not in the room.” Edward squeezed past Harriet and began excavating. 

The evening quickly turned into a long stretch of waiting. Edward sat cross-legged on the floor dusting for prints, only to temporarily get sidetracked and begin to lecture. Harriet and Jon retired to her bed, happy to watch and reprimand when needed. Edward banished them from helping anyway.  
“What are you going to do?” Harriet asked.  
“...I’m going.”  
“...punch him in the head for me, will you?”   
Jonathan smiled at that. “Maybe.”  
The sun died well before Edward found a decent specimen.

He held up a ceramic cheshire cat in triumph. He was in the eye of a storm of scarves, books, teapots and teacups. “Behold! I have found something of use.”   
“Why did it take that long?” Harriet groaned.   
“Because you, my impatient friend, have slapped so many fingerprints on everything to the point it's illegible-but this! This is our last chance.”  
Edward fell silent as he began to work. Jonathan assumed Edward thought he looked cool or mysterious as he worked, which he did not. The Riddler giggled like a schoolboy when he worked. Maybe that was part of his so-called ‘charm’. 

“Look here, gang.” Edward said after a long pause. “And gaze upon my work.”   
Jonathan squinted at the patches of black and white on the paper. “Those aren't human.”   
“Exactly. That's leather. And if there's anyone I know who wears leather its-”  
“Catwoman.” Harriet blurted.  
“Wh- Besides her! Jervis would rather be dead than be seen wearing those musty little gloves of his. And Catwoman wears latex, not leather...”  
“So that means?” Harriet chimed.

Edward laughed. “It’s him, the maniac.” Harriet and Jonathan fell into silence. “I’m going with you.” Harriet said. “I’m his best friend, after all.”

“So am I.” Edward muttered bitterly. “You're not special.” 

“You can’t have two best friends.” Harriet spat. 

“Yes, you can? I think he had three if you included Mary Dahl anyway-”

“That doesn’t count!”

“Shut up. Neither of you are going.”   
Jonathan stood up. There was a hot grip of adrenaline rushing through his veins, and the other two didn’t need to know that. He smiled. “I was the only one invited.”

“Oh that must be so great for you. Jervis brings unwanted guests all the time!”  
Edward nodded. “She does have a point, Jon.”

“This isn’t a debate. I am going alone- and god forbid if I find either of you trying to follow me.” 

“You could at least call us. Tell us what's going on.” Edward mused.  
Harriet nodded, sitting next to him. “Say...that isn't a half bad plan B.”  
“Thank you! Now, Jon. I know you appreciate your privacy more than most, but I think Jervis might be..out of it. More than usual.”  
Jonathan scoffed. “Are you saying you’re worried about me? How touching.”  
“No, it’s just I don’t want to have to worry about your stuff after they find your body.” Edward said sarcastically.

“One call. When I get there.” 

“Three.” Harriet interjected. “One when you get there, one update call, and one when you leave.”

“Why the hell do I need to tell you when I leave? One call.”

“How about this- two calls when you get there, and one update text.” Edward said.

“...ten update texts, no calls.”

“Oh that's bullshit.” Harriet cried. “What if you’re murdered and they try to trick us?”

“Like you of all people would follow me. One call, two texts.”

“Deal.” Harriet said. She hopped up and gave her hand.

“I call first, I text first.” The scarecrow said. 

“Oh trust us, we wouldn’t want to get in the way of your lover’s quarrel. Thank you, Harriet for letting me...you know…” Edward motioned to the mess across the floor.   
“Oh you're cleaning it up, pal.” She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “You're cleaning allll of this up.”   
“Jon! Help!” Edward cried with a laugh. “She’s making me clean!”

“Have fun, Ed.” Scarecrow growled. Edward gave a dramatic cry as the door clicked shut behind him.

He felt strange. He felt good. Untouchable in a way that he hadn’t thought about before as he returned home. Not floating per say, but there was a bounce in the scarecrow’s step that was unfamiliar but not totally unwelcome. It was like that one time he managed to poison the sewer systems, and he probably would have stayed feeling that way if it weren’t for Killer Croc trying to kill his fun.  
He felt like it was a sign. His past had turned him away from ever blaming it on some kind of higher power or fate but it was almost comical how easy it was.The handwriting- the glove prints- it was unreal to hold that slip of paper. It couldn’t be this easy- to ask and ye shall receive?   
He realized he had never asked in the first place. He never wanted to play into Hatter’s world where his word was the higher power- to be another pawn to his childish games and to be cast aside until the time was right. Was that all he was him? 

Cold and irritated, he sat in his chair and felt the high of the evening come crashing down.  
And yet he couldn’t sleep. He could barely think-He was humming with life and he needed to fill an empty void.   
Thankfully, there were loose ends he needed to tie before he could even think about leaving. 

The lab, the whole warehouse, was quiet. Four of his men sat huddled around his work table, underneath the naked bulb. Jonathan paused behind it to listen to their chatter. 

“What is this about d’you think?” 

“Hell if I know.”

“I’m gettin tired of getting tossed around by that guy. It’s 3 am! I got kids to take care of.”

The other men gave muted agreement, and shuffled awkwardly. Jonathan grinned. 

“He pays you don’t he?” 

“Not two kids pay. And one time, I was covered in his gas? My kids were screaming for hours…”  
He laughed uncomfortably.

“Why James!” The scarecrow boomed. “I had no idea you were so dissatisfied with my way of things. He relished in their collective frantic heartbeat. James smiled. “ I uh- I don’t have a problem Mister Crane.”

“There is no point in lying to me, James. If you have a concern, why don’t you tell the rest of the class?” Jonathan stalked closer, giving James a wicked grin. It was something about the teeth of his mask that really got to people, and he loved it. 

“H-honest I don’t! I swear!” 

“Promise?” He cooed. “Yeah- I er. Promise.”

“Well good. Call the rest of the men.I need to make an announcement.”

“W-when, Boss?” Asked Chester. 

“Now. Get them all in here.”

It took less than two hours, and the Scarecrow swelled with deep, unrelenting pride as people crowded around his creation- a great, hulking mass whose only purpose was to create more toxin. The Scarecrow stood on it, like a king on his castle. His subjects were waiting for their master- and he cackled with such ferocity it felt like the ground shook around him.

“Men!” He boomed. “As you may know, groups of us have gathered enough materials to bring Gotham to its knees.”

Everyone cheered in reply. 

“Plans have changed, and I will leave - but that does not mean your work is done! Oh no,  
you will plunge Gotham into a torrent of terror in my absence.”  
Another vehement cheer, each crowd of yells drowning out the first. 

“You will set fire to the streets and the citizens of Gotham will choke down the smoke until there is nothing left of their wretched city!”

The scarecrow cast a finger to the four original henchmen.  
The four weren’t bright by any means, but they were resourceful, and have taken more toxins than all of the lower henchmen combined.   
They were fearful, and therefore manageable. 

“These four men will take charge of these attacks- and heed them well. There will be no slip-ups, no mistakes, and absolutely no Batman- Am I clear?”

The scarecrows thoughts were blurred out by the cheers. 

“Now fly, my agents of chaos! Make them cry out at the very thought of the Scarecrow!”

The scarecrow shrieked as his men snatched up scythes, cars, and tanks upon tanks of fear gas.   
Oh the screams they’ll cause, he thought, as the sound of engines revving up filled the air. Nothing as good as he could, that's for certain.   
He watched as the hordes drove down the road and smelled the low fog of orange that began to trail behind them. He watched the sun rise from his lonesome perch, only to think of all the nightmares he'll miss.

Across the country the Mad Hatter sat on his back porch. He sipped a tall glass of lemonade with a sun hat perched on his head. The coast was blue and green and perfect in the best way. He silently mused about his letter. Jervis had hoped that it had gotten to his dear friend, and he had hoped that he had read it. But he felt his feelings were misplaced when he had hoped Jonathan would actually come. Gloom settled in his heart.   
“Of course he would come...we’re friends aren’t we?” His absence wasn’t very great.  
He took a deep slug of his lemonade as gulls cried over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof! Hopefully this chapter wasn't to dialogue heavy for you guys- I'm just a sucker for villain interaction. :)


	3. Long way to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scarecrow makes the trek across the country while Batman begins the effort to track him.

“Master Bruce?”  
Instantly Batman jolted out of bed. Alfred was casting a shadow from the doorway, hands folded neatly. “Alfred- what’s going on?”  
“I believe something is going on downtown Master Bruce.” Alfred said in his typical manner. “The Scarecrow has returned.”  
“-Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” He demanded as he jumped out of bed, dashing out the room.  
“Master Dick said he would take care of it while you slept.” Alfred called after him. “He was concerned for your health- and so am I.”  
“m’ fine Alfred.” Bruce grumbled. He was still sluggish, and from the daylight streaming through the windows he was asleep for about four hours. It had been days since he allowed himself such a luxury- and he was paying for it.  
Bats flew in a whirlwind as Bruce ran to the Batcave to prepare. His suit was where he left it, propped up against it’s underused case. The Batmobile hummed to life in the driveway. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Batman said. Through the com. The thrumming of a motorcycle engine crackled on the other end. “You were tired, and I could handle it. I snagged a couple of Scarecrow’s goonies- do you wanna come over and work your magic?”

“On my way.”

“I think my grip is slipping.” He growled. The woman sobbed, clawing onto the slippery plastic glove that was holding her. They stood on top of one of Gotham’s many banks, high above the massive street known as east fifty third. Cars blared down with reckless abandon.  
.“I don’t know! I promise!”  
“Liar.” Batman said cooly. “Where’s his hideout?”  
“I know! I know where that is- and I’ll tell you-”  
Batman glowered at her, but pulled her back onto the rooftop. The woman staggered to stand straight. 

“The industrial district?” Robin echoed. “I thought we checked there a few weeks ago.”  
“Doesn’t matter.” He replied. “Scarecrow is fast- and that makes him harder to keep track of.”  
The batmobile screeched to a halt at the decrepit warehouse. The rumble of the vehicle caused boards to slip off windows. The sea air carried that familiar scent of a chemical bath. Batman strapped his gas mask on before moving closer. “Careful.”  
“I know, I know.” Robin sighed, doing the same.  
There was a large glass window on the roof where the two could slip through. “Bingo.” Batman smiled. The machiche stood proudly in the middle of the room. Beside it where empty canisters- similar to the ones Scarecrow’s goons carried. Paper littered desks and boxes stood across the vast emptiness of the space. “How’d he get all of this equipment down here?” Robin asked as he trotted towards the machine. “He must have gotten it from a third party source.”  
“Penguin?”  
“He doesn’t deal with industrial work. I’m thinking Riddler. I’m calling this in.”

Police cars came within the hour. “Holy shit.” Bullock swore. He looked at Batman with full accusatory intent. “That wasn't here last time we checked.”  
“I know.” Bullock scoffed. “You know? And you just..thought it was okay until scarecrow tried ta’ kill us all?”

“Easy Bullock.” Commissioner Gordon said as he walked up to the fray. He spoke through an industrial grade gas mask that turned his voice into a low grumble. “If Batman knew he was here, the Scarecrow would have been strapped to my ceiling fan by now. I need you to get to work.”

Harvey muttered a string of curses through his cigarette as he wandered off. Batman watched as he started to inspect the machine. ‘And put a mask on!” Gordon shouted after him.

“Where do you think the guy is?” Gordon asked with a sigh.

“I don’t know yet. He must be still in the city.”

Batman was right, but just barely. Jonathan sat in a bus that was reaching the last stop in Gotham city. It was full of citizens who were lucky enough to climb onto the already crowded bus. Apparently the scarecrow was back and causing mayhem. If Jonathan wasn’t listening to music in his half-broken walkman, he’d feel something close to pride. He wasn’t. He was feeling very human and he practically writhed in self-hatred at the thought.

He thought about love. Now granted, he was terrible at love and everything that came with it. He wasn’t prideful enough to not admit that to himself. There had been others before The Hatter, all dumb, conventionally attractive and very, very sane. Hatter was none of those things.  
Despite all this he missed the bastard. He couldn't deny himself that, despite how degrading and shameful it was. He never really missed anyone he was attracted to when they left. He would think about it, cry a little more than he’d like to admit, and get over it.

Jervis left a wound that a little thinking and crying wouldn’t solve, and he hated it. He stared out at the window in contained fury- watching as the last stop in Gotham passed him by. The city was going to have what measured up to a plague for a long time, and Jonathan wasn’t even there to see it. Damn the man. He could be stepping on the heads of the people of gotham and watch them struggle beneath his feet. But no. He had to bottle up the feelings and let them build like mold on his heart. He wanted to be held and cared about like an idiot.  
Why was he even doing this? He couldn't help but ask himself. Why does he even bother?

“Hey, buddy?” Jonathan snapped out of his rage induced haze to see a man- a tad younger than himself but much larger- point at his leg. “D’you think you could scoot over?”  
Jonathan looked back to see the rest of the bus filled with passengers- all nervous and relieved looking. Survivors, he thought. People smart enough to run. He damned them too, and wished to poison them like the people they left behind. He moved his leg instead and congratulated himself on his incredible self-control. The man smiled and sat down, extended a hand.  
“Max fleming.” He said. “Carl.” Jonathan said easily, taking his hand. Max smiled wider. “Just Carl?”  
“Just Carl.” He said.  
“So, just Carl...where you headed to?”  
“Mississippi.”  
Max whistled. “Buddy, this thing goes to Florida! You have the wrong bus!”  
Jonathan nodded. “Do I now.”  
“You sure do. I’m real sorry about your luck, buddy. But Florida’s nice this time of year. Real warm.”

Then Max began to prattle on about his life like he was writing an autobiography. He was born in Michigan (Where supposed there was a killer haunted house that he went to every year as a kid.), but lived in the country outside of Gotham to take care of his aging father who recently died. But he was a hardass and Max did it to weasel into his old man’s will.  
Jonathan didn’t stop him. He was sure he was giving every possible signal to deter the man, but he was denser than a fruitcake. Max mentioned how great his old lady’s fruitcake was. Three times.  
“I’m going down to the golden state to see my wife.” he looked down sheepishly. “She couldn't help me take care of my father and left to destress. I’m getting her a new ring, renewing my vows, if I can.” He elbowed Jonathan in the rib. “You catch more flies with honey, right?” Jonathan smiled vaguely and Max laughed. “Maybe throw in a nice dress too…” He mused. And suddenly Max shut up. It was a miracle.  
And somehow Jonathan found himself with the ability to smile. Internally of course. He cracked open a book and began to read. He let himself fade into the book and properly zone out, before he let himself sleep.

He woke up, sore and anxious. Max was reading beside him, and caught his eye when he looked at him. “You okay buddy?”  
Jonathan looked at the bus. Considerably less crowded and that thought put fear in his gut. How long had he been sleeping? Has the Batman found him yet? He cast a glance out the window to see nothing but unfamiliar roads and trees. Sweat pooled on his brow. 

“Where am I?” He grumbled.  
“I think we just got into South carolina- Its funny, I-”  
“When's the next stop?”  
Max shrugged. “ Hey Driver!” He called. “When are we stoppin’?”  
“Fifteen minutes.” The woman replied.  
“Fifteen minutes.”  
“I heard that.” Jonathan said quietly. He hid his eyes with his hand. The fluorescent bulb of the bus made his head hurt. “Can you...can you do me a favor?”  
“Shoot.”  
“Can you wake me up? In fifteen minutes?”  
Max nodded. “Sure.”

Jonathan was thankful Max did. He needed to eat, and he needed to pee. The station was bright and almost abandoned, except for a Bat Burger joint. The stale,rubbery burger did wonders and the scarecrow scarfed it down in moments. It was dark out now. He had been asleep for a long time. “You're not going to Mississippi, are you? Max asked behind him. Jonathan looked at him in silence. The burger was doing a dive bomb in his stomach.  
“You pick up things like that, riding around a lot. D’you have some mistress or somethin’? Behind the wife? I won’t tell.”  
Jonathan scoffed. “Bold of you to assume I’m married.” The younger man laughed at that. “Carl, you’re alright.” 

Was this what it was like to have friends? Jonathan caught himself thinking. The bus left the station a while back, and now he was stealing glances at Max, who was snoring.  
He thought about being his friend. He hated the idea, and despised the thought of spending any more time than he had to to remain inconspicuous. However, that did not stop him from dreaming of a version of him that wanted normal companionship. He did have it, sort of. Harley was kind to him, but even her peppy-in your face attitude wore him down. Edward helped him but he was practically insufferable when he stroked his ego.  
Hatter was his friend, in the beginning. They played chess and the occasional hide-and-seek at Arkham and talked about tea cups and trauma and anything that struck them whenever they had the chance. They worked together, and they did so well when they weren’t at each other’s throats. They even got away a few times.  
So he didn’t feel overwhelmingly pathetic when he shed tears at the Hatter’s passing.  
He tried to tell himself to stop thinking of it- that the scab didn't need to be torn off and picked at. But he was here now, and he didn’t think to stop himself.

It was November. The worst of all months. He was usually in Arkham those days, after a big halloween shindig. He was alone that year . No Harley, no Ed, and no Hatter. Their absence led to the hope of breakout- but that was overwhelmed by the dread of being in Arkham. He spent most of his days practicing chess moves or retiring to the bed of his cell trying to sleep in that rank, oppressive building.  
Batman told him. He remembered sleeping when what he believed in his haze was the voice of death called him. He didn't sound angry- and that scared the hell out of him. Jonathan remembered getting up feeling his brain trying to keep up with his body. Batman frowned and apologized. Jonathan remembered holding back, and how hard his head hurt and he wasn’t sure he heard the man right. Batman held a scarf through the bars. Purple and green- it was achingly familiar. Only then he truly understood. 

He fell six stories into the Gotham River. That's what he was told anyway. He had an empty grave and no funeral, another thing he was told during those painful months in the asylum. What was the last thing the hatter said to him? He wasn’t sure if it even mattered or not.  
It was that Halloween- the last one for a long time. Jervis stood outside his apartment in full hatter fear despite himself. Jervis kissed him gently and wished him good luck. He remembered speeding off towards town with a cloud of orangy smoke behind him. He didn't think Jervis was acting strangely that night but...  
He shook his head at himself. He didn’t need to dwell on the topic any longer.

The night went and morning came without a hitch. They were in Georgia now, and the sun rose over the growing fields of wheat. He began thinking of his home- and this time he did stop himself. He spent a lifetime thinking about the old mansion, and there wasn’t a reason to look back on it. 

Mansfeild was a good two hours away when the bus finally stopped. It was late afternoon then, and the heat was boiling him inside his sweater. “Hey, Bud.”  
Jonathan turned around to see Max. He was holding his hand out again, and now in a dress shirt rather than the tee he previously wore. “Good luck?” It was framed as a question. Jonathan was thankful he wasn’t the prying kind. Hopefully he wasn’t much of a snitch either.  
Jonathan took it. His grip was firm. “You too.”

-+-

“Well well well. If it isn't the big bat himself.” Edward turned his head to see Batman standing in the doorway. He grinned widely, casually shutting down his more incriminating files.

“You’ve been selling tech to the Scarecrow. Why?”

“Riddle me this-” Edward shut his laptop with a snap and swiveled in his chair to face him. He wished he could have been at least notified when he was coming, that way he wouldn't have to face him in a loose tee and jeans. “When I’m used I’m useless, once offered I’m rejected-”  
He didn't budge.

“In desperation oft expressed-” 

“Cut to the chase Nygma.” There was the hard wrinkle of the vinyl glove curling into a fist. Before I lose my patience.”

“You're no fun.” He stuck his lower lip out in a overegaterated pout. “‘Sides, I didn't lend him anything. He doesn't like my help.” Edward sat up, intrigued.  
“You on the other hand...” He raised an eyebrow and a sly grin crossed his face. Batman made no effort to hide his eye roll. “Admit it! You're stuck so you come crawling back to me. You know that I hold the cards.” He giggled. “Metaphorically, of course.”  
“Alright Nygma.” Batman said cherrily. “If you do know everything, then you would know where Scarecrow is.”  
The sudden change in tone made him worried. But he couldn't help but indulge, this was Batman practically groveling here. One must bask in the glory.  
“...Clever.” He said, tapping his mouth with his finger. “I do know, but do you know who can tell you in terms that your peanut brain could understand?” He paused for dramatic effect. “Chat with Mad March. If you can find her. She's been down the rabbit hole lately.”  
Edward grinned.  
“...I’ll deal with you later.” Batman said as he turned to leave. Probably to jump out of the nearest window.  
“Fine! It’s not like I need a thank you or anything.”  
He was met with silence. Edward sighed, and slumped back onto his desk. He held up a hand. “Thanks E’ward.” He made it speak in a nasally drawl. “W’thout you I woulda nevah gotten out of th’ city.” 

“I also have to thank you Nygma-” His left hand growled out. He stuck his index and pinky finger out to make two ears.  
“As much as I‘m jealous of your massive IQ, I also have deep, unwavering respect for you and your smoking bod.”  
He pretended to look deeply touched at his hands.  
“Boys, boys, you're too kind.” He said with utmost sincerity. “I am just a humble genius bestowing my many gifts to my fans.” 

Edward sighed, suddenly unhappy with his little game. He opened his laptop and began typing out his password. One could dream, anyway. Sooner or later one of them would find it in his heart to thank him. Logically, later than sooner.  
“Ungrateful whelps.” 

-+-

Storm clouds sailed over the horizon and drowned out the last streaks of the sunset. The air had cooled to a tolerable degree, giving Jonathan good enough reason to comb the docks for Lake Finnegan. The word ferry was used in the letter, but none of the boats here matched it’s description. As the sky grew darker his frustration grew and he was forced to pace the dock. He spent far too long looking for a sign that never showed.  
The marina began clearing out and it was filled to the brim with boats. Jonathan sat at the edge of the marina and avoided people’s passive-aggressive glances. Thunder boomed miles away.  
One person, however, did not leave the water. A blonde, more boy than man, walked down to a sailboat decked out in duct tape. He hopped into it with ease, whistling as he did so.  
“Are you Mr. Finnegan?” Jonathan called out. The whistling stopped. “Who wants to know?”  
“A friend asked me to look for you.” He said plainly. He trotted down the dock, bag in tow.  
Finnegan looked up at him with a smile. He pulled up a chair and lounged back in it. “Yeah. That's me. Are you looking for a ride right now?”  
Jonathan looked up at the threatening clouds.  
“If you think it's safe.”  
Lake scoffed. “I know what I’m doing.”

Another glance at the horizon assured Jonathan the weather was far from perfect. He had to consider, if he waited, how long would he be stranded in this stupid town where the sun was too bright and tourists looked at him funny?  
“Sure.” He scoffed. The boat was tricky to get into and swayed dangerously close into the water. 

The engine sputtered and died. Lake muttered a few curses and kicked it as hard as he was able. The abused machine puttered back to life and the dingey began to steer out of the marina. 

There was a long hour of waiting, Jonathan resigned himself to casting weary looks at the fading coastline and ignoring Lake’s half-assed covers of margaritaville tunes.  
“D’you know him?” Lake asked, suddenly giving up halfway through the chorus of Hotel California. Jonathan didn’t answer.  
Lake finished the chorus and finished the bridge. “Some big secret, huh? It’s cool.”

Another round of the chorus. Jonathan promised himself he was going to slap whoever made him sit with Lake Finnegan for any amount of time. “You don’t talk much, do you?”  
He snorted. “Weird.”

Jonathan looked over his shoulder. He did not restrain his look of utter disapproval as Lake shrugged nonchalantly. “Insolent twerp.” He muttered under his breath. Another bolt of thunder crackled by.

“What was that?” Lake asked. 

“I said,” Jonathan took a nice, long breath so he could fully articulate his words. “Insolent. Twerp.”  
“Tough shit for a guy on my boat.” Lake’s surfer demeanor faded and a cocky smile crossed his face. 

Now, as much as Jonathan was a homicidal maniac with a penchant for burlap and medieval torture devices, he was also somewhat sensible. Sensible enough that he knew full well that he was a very small man. Correction, a very small man with minimal swimming experience sitting in someone else’s boat. 

Jonathan grimaced and said no more. 

Another half hour sitting bitterly in silence a while of thunder cracked in the air. Lake looked up, rather nonchalantly. 

“Did he say anything about me?” Jonathan asked. 

“Well...he did say you might be kind of an ass.”  
He laughed at that. "I get it now." Jonathan scowled.

The boat continued to putter along as an island- about the size of a street block came into view out of the rising fog.  
The dock protruded from the island for a few feet before dipping into the water.  
The boat scrapped against the rotting wood, peeling a layer of duct tape. Jonathan got out as the first raindrops started to fall. The two wordlessly parted and Lake started up the boat.

Jervis often said he felt like he was always walking through a dream. For a moment Jonathan felt the same way. The house looked anything but real lit up against the indigo-gray of the sky.

The path was before him, and all he had to do was walk.

“This better be worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully the pacing isn't too rough on this one- I kind of just wanted it to have a more montage like feel to it in contrast to the other chapters.


End file.
